


Tongue-Tied

by ConniptionCrazy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And Scott throws Doritos, Derek is comforting in that way that he has, First Kiss, Fluffy, In which Jackson is a dick, Kid!Stiles and Kid!Derek in the beginning, M/M, Stiles has a stutter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:32:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConniptionCrazy/pseuds/ConniptionCrazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They called him Stutter Stilinski, and when no one was looking on the playground, and Scott was nowhere to be seen (thankfully a rarity), a group of older kids would spot him and run up, surrounding him before Stiles could think.</p><p>Where Stiles has a stutter and Derek is surprisingly helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tongue-Tied

It used to be a big deal. When Stiles was a kid. It was just the way he talked- his mom and dad didn’t try to correct him beyond trying to get him to slow down. But children are cruel and they are merciless, especially in that social dogfight that happens in elementary school, where everyone’s trying to figure out who they are without even realizing it.

 

Scott was basically his only friend. There were a few other, transient people. But only Scott stood by him. Only Scott defended him when it happened.

 

When Stiles would stutter.

 

They called him Stutter Stilinski, and when no one was looking on the playground, and Scott was nowhere to be seen (thankfully a rarity), a group of older kids would spot him and run up, surrounding him before Stiles could think.

 

He would stand, and glare at them, daring them to hit him. ‘I’ll tell my daddy on you’ has a totally different effect when you’re the son of a police officer. And his mom was always disappointed when he got into fights, so Stiles really did try his best to refrain.

 

They would always make him talk. Ask him questions, make jibes at Scott so that Stiles would defend him. Anything to get him to say something like-

 

"St-st-stop i-it!"

 

And they would laugh and shove him just a little too hard, smiling just a little too wide. Stiles wasn't the sort of kid to hate anyone, or hold a grudge, but he hated them. He hated them more than anything.

 

They would crack jokes about how his chin would twitch with as many stutters as he made. They would mime having a seizure when the teacher was out of the room.

 

Stiles tried not to let it bother him. He tried to let them be character building words. But there were days when it was simply too much, and Stiles would run out of class to the bathrooms, hiding his tiny first-grader body in a corner of the always deserted restrooms and cry. He always felt a little better after crying- at least when he was alone, no one was there to make fun of him for the way he hiccuped and jerked as he hugged himself as if trying to hold all the pieces together.

 

It was one such time, after Stiles left the classroom with hot-angry tears in his eyes, that he chose to hide in the bathroom farther down the hall. Nobody the teacher sent to find him would look here. This was the middle schooler's side of the building- none of the 'little kids' came down here.

 

What he wasn't expecting was for an actual middle schooler to come in. Stiles froze and wished he could stop his tears, too, but if anything, they redoubled. He wiped his eyes furiously on his sweatshirt cuffs.

 

"Hey, you okay?"

 

The other boy looked like he was already an eighth grader. He had dark hair but light eyes, and there was concern there, and a little bit of awkwardness. Stiles begged himself not to look as terrified as he felt. Eighth graders could smell fear.

 

"'M o-o-okay." Stiles sniffed, sucking in a desperate breath. It felt like he was breathing through a straw.

 

"You're not, are you?" The other boy kneeled down in front of him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked even more nervous than before, but Stiles couldn't see it passed the continuous tears. "Need a hug?"

 

Stiles sniffled, looking at the other boy with wide, surprised eyes. Not even /Scott/ asked him if he needed one. Only his mom, and sometimes his dad. He launched himself into the other boy's arms, heedless, burying his face in the other's shoulder and trying not to be a big baby.

 

Because no matter what they said, he was a big kid now. And that meant no crying like a big baby.

 

The boy jumped in minute surprise before wrapping his arms around Stiles, rubbing his back and rocking him gently. He didn't say anything, and Stiles thought that was pretty okay, too. This kid gave great hugs.

 

Finally, a bell rang somewhere and the dark-haired kid looked up.

 

"I have to go now. I'll walk you back to your class, okay?" He whispered to Stiles.

 

Stiles sniffed hard and nodded. They got up and the boy wet a paper towel in the sink and carefully wiped Stiles' face of tears and snot and general grossness before he led the way out of the bathroom.

 

Stiles grabbed for his hand, holding it tightly all the way back to the classroom. Before they went in, the boy crouched down, holding Stiles' upper arms, making them lock gazes.

 

"S-s-sorry abou-about your j-jacket." Stiles choked out, his voice wrecked from the crying.

 

"It's okay." The boy smiled at him reassuringly. "And you're going to be okay, too, you hear me?"

 

Stiles nodded furiously. "Okay."

 

"Good."

 

And without even saying goodbye, the boy got up, rubbed Stiles' head, and began to walk away. Stiles anxiously twisted his hands in the hem of his sweatshirt. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. The boy was halfway down the hall- almost gone.

 

"W-w-we're f-friends, r-ri-right?!" Stiles called desperately.

 

The boy stopped and turned around after a second. He was grinning.

 

"Yeah. Yeah, we're friends."

 

And then he was gone.

 

Stiles stepped back into class and wished the boy was still there holding his hand, protecting him from the knowing stares of his classmates. The teacher had a fit because he'd been gone so long, and his parents were called, but somehow Stiles felt like everything was going to be okay.

 

In the years that followed, Stiles did his very best to get rid of the stupid stutter. It took a lot of focus, a lot of medication, and a lot of patience. Which meant that it was very, very slow going.

 

But Stiles managed it. He was able to get it down to whenever he was nervous or excited or talking too fast or scared. Which was, you know, what he was basically every day of his life, but so long as he concentrated, he had it under control. It soon became second nature.

 

At least, he had it under control until he met Derek Hale. It wasn't a big deal until he met Derek Hale. He didn't _think about it_ until he met _Derek-fucking-Hale_.

 

Derek made him all of those emotions basically all the time. _Basically_.

 

Prime example- the first time they met the guy, Stiles could barely say a damn word to him he was so nervous. Derek practically screamed serial killer, and Stiles wasn’t sure if anyone noticed, but what little muscle he had came from lacrosse practice. Otherwise, he was lanky and bony and really no good at defending himself should it come to physical fight. He was better at running away. But maybe after he stole Scott’s baseball bat for protection.

 

But fast forward. Pack meeting, July nineteenth, Friday. Stiles arrived early because he’d gotten the wrong memo- or text message in this case- and was thrumming with energy. Adderall prescription was out. He was going to have to wait until Monday to get more. So he was really trying to keep his mouth shut lest his stutter make an appearance, not that it was working so far today.

 

 _Please, please just let me be a wallflower tonight._ He begged any celestial gods that might be paying attention and have a little bit of generosity to offer.

 

But of course, there was no generosity happening tonight. Because Stiles could never get the easy end of the stick ever since werewolves became a thing in his life.

 

He had a map out on the coffee table and was taking careful direction from Derek to mark the borders of their territory. So they knew what to protect and where not to cross if they weren’t traveling or just passing through. Stiles was excited- they were a family now. All of them, sitting around, throwing food at each other- it was fucking perfect. Stiles knew he’d fight for them, to the death. He’d do whatever it took.

 

Especially for Derek.

 

Sexy, smart, enigmatic, broken Derek.

 

Stiles didn’t know when he’d started being attracted to the Alpha werewolf, but the moment he’d had that first wet dream, it was obvious to him. That, and when he impromptu kissed Lydia’s cheek and felt nothing, it cemented his hypothesis. Mostly because he decided the black eye from Jackson wasn’t worth it. Before, he would have been head-over-heels that he’d had the audacity to kiss _Lydia Martin_ on the cheek. Just on the _cheek_.

 

But mostly the only thing that had given him butterflies in the whole encounter was from the _oh shit_ feeling as Jackson’s fist came flying at his face.

 

And then there was Derek in real life.

 

Dream Derek was always kind, a little softer around the edges than he usually was. He smiled a little bit more. Touched Stiles freely. Didn’t slam him against walls and growl in his face unless they were getting it on. It was nice, but it wasn’t real Derek. Stiles knew that. But he’d take what he could get.

 

Real Derek gave grunted or one-word answers to any and every question, regardless of whether or not it was a yes or no answer required. Stiles had become very fluent in Derek-speak. The eyebrows helped.

 

Fun fact: There really was an expression for _I am about to strangle you with your own intestines._

 

Stiles had yet to see it directed at him. He’d really only seen it twice, to be honest. Once, directed at Gerard, and the second time directed at Jackson when Derek got a good look at the pretty significant shiner on Stiles’ face. Stiles had to act as mediator. He got to make it even by punching Jackson in the face in return. His eye healed faster than Stiles’, and Stiles’ hand smarted by the end of it, but they were cool afterwards.

 

Which was kind of weird in and of itself, but anyway.

 

Stiles didn’t know how he’d managed to keep his cool then. Much less now, with his hands splayed across the map, sharpie weaved in-between his fingers, words he wanted to say bursting at the tip of his tongue.

 

Scott threw more Doritos at Allison from across the couch (it was an ongoing fight) and Stiles couldn’t hold it in anymore.

 

“M-m-make sure there’s-there’s some l-left for the r-r-r-rest of us!” Once he started he couldn’t stop. It was like watching a car wreck, except he was the one at the wheel.

 

Not the first time Stiles had ever felt like this, but it was definitely the first time it was this severe. Because everyone was suddenly staring at him and Stiles found his jaw locked in place and his ears heating up in embarrassment. Okay. Okay, he could do this. Just plow right on through and hopefully they would forget all about it.

 

“Did you just-?” Erica asked, nose wrinkling.

 

Jackson snorted. “We used to call him Sutter Stilinski. It was funny.” He grinned.

 

Stiles balked, a flare of anger rising up in him. He stood abruptly, fists clenching, Sharpie dropped. Derek was staring at him with his eyebrows all the way up, and Scott was giving him a vaguely worried look, but Stiles was seeing red. He didn’t pay attention to either of those things.

 

“F-f-f-funny?!” He spat. “Y-you thought it w-w-was funny?!” He was so pissed he could barely think.

 

He understood thinking it was funny then. That was the past. Stiles had put most of it behind him. He’d let it go, or as much of it as he could. But thinking it was funny now? Did they still call him that behind his back, when he was out of earshot? Stiles was insulted. He didn’t get along with Jackson anyway, and Jackson was always causing trouble, these things were true. But he was also pack. And that meant that somewhere, deep underneath all that shit, they were together in this with everyone else.

 

So the fact that Jackson still garnered some amusement from it left Stiles at the very end of his usually very long rope.

 

The last straw was when Allison let out a tiny giggle. She hadn’t even known him back then and she- and she just-

 

None of them had any idea how it had affected him. None of them knew how hard he had worked to get it to go away, to leave him be for good. The only one who knew was probably Scott, and Stiles had sworn him to secrecy.

 

He didn’t think about it. He just needed to get out, before he did something stupid. That, and his anger was quickly turning to hurt. Fucking teenage hormones. At least, that was what he told himself as he left the Hale house and started into the woods. Stiles didn’t want to drive. He didn’t think he could right now.

 

He didn’t notice that someone was following him until he got into the gloomy part of the forest where the trees were close together and you couldn’t see anything unless it was ten or twenty feet away.

 

He broke suddenly into a clearing at the same moment as he heard a twig crack behind him. Stiles kept walking until he was on the other side of the small clearing before spinning around on his heel, prepared to scream and shout until he was hoarse, stuttering be damned.

 

But he wasn’t prepared for it to be Derek staring back at him. Derek’s hooded blue eyes, Derek with his slightly hunched shoulders like he was trying not to be big and threatening like he usually was. His hands were stuffed in his pockets. Stiles looked down and noticed Derek was wearing black Converse.

 

This completely caught Stiles off guard and it was like the anger just fell away. Gave way to humiliation and exhaustion.

 

“Stiles-” Derek tried to start.

 

“C-can we just not t-t-talk about it? It’s been a p-problem since I was a kid and I thought I had it under control but it s-slips sometimes and I didn’t really know what t-t-to do so I guess I just reacted and really it’s nothing, not that big of a deal, I was just being dramatic-” Stiles wondered why he couldn’t just shut up. He was only making it worse, only digging himself a deeper hole.

 

Derek came closer, shifting one foot and then the other. The movement reminded Stiles of the move the Beast had made in the Disney Beauty and the Beast when she tells him to come into the light in the very beginning of the movie except this doesn’t have nearly the same effect and wow way to go off on a tangent, brain.

 

Ah. Right. Still no Adderall.

 

“There was only one kid I knew who talked like that.” Derek said softly.

 

Stiles was about to ask what the hell he was talking about because that was a weird thing to say in this situation when he remembered. He remembered the bathroom, the way that eighth grader, who had seemed so much larger than life and not unlike a superhero, had made him feel like he could go back and face anything. The way the other boy had smelled, like cinnamon candy and the woods.

 

“That was- th-that was y-y-y-you?!” Stiles was kind of freaking out now.

 

Because he’d hugged and cried on Derek Hale. When he was six. _Six!_

 

“Yes, it was me.” Derek was giving him a look that Stiles couldn’t decipher.

 

The alpha reached out and put a hand fully on Stiles’ shoulder, his fingers digging in firmly but not painfully. It was grounding, and the entirety of Stiles’ focus pinpointed onto Derek’s hand. The feel of each individual finger, the way they connected to Derek’s huge palm, the warmth that radiated from the werewolf. The way Derek could probably now pull him just about anywhere and Stiles would have no choice in the matter.

 

Stiles gulped. It wasn’t scary, or thrilling, not in the way Stiles thought it would be. It calmed him down a little bit, quieting the buzzing of his mind that demanded that he focus on several things all at once. He was able to meet Derek’s eyes.

 

There was a soft understanding there. Not quite like the boy all those years ago, but there was a memory of him in there, somewhere. Stiles felt his shoulders slump.

 

“Need a hug?” Derek asked in a rough, low voice. Like he couldn’t believe he was actually asking but couldn’t stop himself, either.

 

Stiles didn’t say anything, didn’t want to break this fragile spell. He latched onto Derek before Derek could pull away, his hands fisting in the back of the other’s jacket as he felt strong arms wrap solidly around him.

 

“I’m not weak, you know.” He felt like he had to say it. To prove it. “This is just once!”

 

“I know you’re not weak, Stiles. You cut off a Banshee’s head last week. With a hatchet. By yourself.” Derek snorted. “And you beat Lydia in checkers without breaking your poker face. I know you’re not weak.” He reiterated.

 

Stiles snickered into Derek’s shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of relief.

 

“You are, like, the best Alpha ever.” Stiles muttered. He felt much more in control now.

 

Derek shrugged with a noncommittal noise. Stiles knew Derek didn’t think much of himself, but he’d keep saying and showing Derek how much he actually belonged here until he understood. This was home, for all of them, and nobody was ever taking it from Derek again.

 

Thankfully, there was one other thing Stiles knew about Derek. It was not to draw out the touchy-feely moments. Because Derek was a Tough Guy and he didn’t do emotions. It was like he’d forgotten all about them and how to deal with other people’s after the fire. Which was okay- he was learning, slowly but surely. But Stiles wouldn’t push for more than he could chew.

 

So he thumped Derek’s back, mumbled some form of a ‘thank you’ (He had no idea what he actually said, too busy trying to keep his jacket together and keep the warmth of Derek close to him, even though it was a July night and really, really no need for that). Derek was looking sufficiently embarrassed and frustrated at himself.

 

Ah. Scowl number three. Yep, definitely frustrated at himself.

 

“What i-is it?” Stiles asked cautiously.

 

Privately, Derek thought the stutter was cute and Jackson needed a punch to the esophagus for bringing up old wounds. But Derek didn’t really think words like cute, so he didn’t voice this.

 

“I- you just-” He let out an annoyed sigh through his nose. “You shouldn’t listen. To the insults, I mean.” Derek shook his head, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “You’re more than that.”

 

Stiles hid a small smile. Derek really was the best. On a whim, he leaned forward, up on his tip-toes, and pressed a kiss to Derek’s lips. It was light and soft and for a moment, before anything beyond oh, that’s nice had time to register, both of them were relaxed. But then Derek stiffened up and Stiles yanked himself back, horrified.

 

“Oh my g-g-g-g-guh-” He couldn’t even spit it out. He didn’t know why he’d done that. He didn’t even know if he’d meant anything by it. He looked at Derek helplessly, hoping it added to the _please don’t eviscerate me and leave my body in the woods look._

 

“Stiles, _shh_.” Derek somehow made it an order, caging him in against a tree.

 

And then they were kissing again and oh, okay. Maybe Derek really hadn’t minded as much as Stiles had thought he had. The sharp flare of panic he’d felt began to gently ease away, like a tide ebbing, and Stiles was able to relax as Derek’s arms slid around his back.

 

“Oh my god, my eyes!” Scott yelped from somewhere to the left.

 

Turns out, when your Alpha and another one of your pack have been eyefucking each other for months and then your Alpha leaves to comfort them, you shouldn’t follow to see if everything’s okay.

 

No matter how well intentioned.

 

-Finis-

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of CaptainStilinski's brilliant ideas that needed to be written. It would be a crime to have let it go to waste. Stuttering Stiles is just adorable, no arguments. I really enjoyed writing this. :3  
> *Minor edits made- italics were missing.


End file.
